Everything He'll Never Remember
by Art-Over-Matter
Summary: Castiel wakes up on a beach with no memory of himself or his life. Then he meets Dean Winchester and everything changes. He's swept into the hunter lifestyle, but something more happens during his time with Dean...
1. Fallen

_It was some time in late summer when the bright light fell from the sky. A single point of burning light, small and insignificant against the off-white backwash of the clouds. It dropped and burned until, with a large splash heard by no one, it landed in the Pacific Ocean just off the coast of Washington. They called it a meteor._

 _They were wrong._

oooo

A man lies unconscious in the sand. His clothes are worn and ragged and soggy. His skin is rough and dry and salty. He wears a trench coat, splayed open to reveal an old bloodstain on his white dress shirt. He fits in among the other debris washed up on the beach; just another drifting scrap pulled in from far, far away.

He's dying, of course. He wasn't supposed to, but…accidents happen. He has maybe a few hours of blissful unconsciousness, and then he'll move along. No heaven. No hell. No purgatory.

He'll move along to oblivion.

"Woah, man, you okay? Hello?"

He feels someone grab his wrist, pinching it lightly between their fingers. He stirs slightly, but his whole body aches and moving is painful. He tries to open his eyes, but it seems like a tremendous amount of effort.

"Hey. Damn, you are in bad shape." The man's voice is followed by a series of three beeps. Then he's talking again.

But listening isn't worth it and opening his eyes isn't worth it and the sound of the ocean waves is too loud….

"Stay with me, man. You gotta stay with me until the ambulance gets here."

He focuses on the voice, using it to pull himself away from the fuzzy edges of unconsciousness. He tries to inhale, but he's gripped by the need to cough and he does so, weakly, surprised by how much it hurts his chest. Slowly, he opens his eyes to the blinding brightness of the sky. Once he's had a moment for his eyes to adjust, he can vaguely make out the features of the man kneeling above him.

Spiky, warm brown hair, high cheekbones, vivid green eyes. Rugged, like he's seen a lot despite his age. _Familiar._

"Who—" The urge to cough overtakes him again and he starts to cough as though his lungs want to turn themselves inside out. He rolls to the side, hacking, retching, his chest burning.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. There's a grimace in the man's voice. "Hang on, buddy, just another couple minutes. I think I can hear the…"

The world falls away into blackness.


	2. Castiel

A repetitive beep has been echoing through his subconscious for a while, he thinks, by the time he actually wakes up. Opening his eyes is easier this time, though the view that greets him is still harshly bright. It's a room, mostly empty with pale, dull green walls, white flooring, a single window, and a single door. He's lying on his back in a wide bed and he has something itchy attached to his wrist.

 _Hospital. I'm in a hospital._

Frowning, he gingerly moves his head to the side, where a chair sits, waiting for visitors. Empty. He lifts his left arm, looking at the tube taped to his wrist. It's inside him, he realizes. There's a needle inside him. Why?

He reaches up with his other hand to pull it off, but just then someone enters the room. She must be the nurse.

"Hi there," she says in a friendly tone. "Nice to see you're awake."

"How—" His voice comes out as a hoarse croak and he has to swallow and try again. "How long have I been here?"

"Just overnight. You were in pretty bad shape when we got you, but you're recovering fast. You should be good to go in another day or two."

"Where is he?"

She frowns, checking the bag of fluid the tube in his arm is attached to, and asks, "Who?"

"The man who brought me here."

"Oh, I didn't see him personally, but I heard he left not long after the ambulance brought the two of you here. Never got a name on the guy. Now, how do you feel?"

"I'm…fine. I feel very…heavy. Grounded."

She cocks her head a bit but just nods. "Well, let us know if you need anything. Sir, you didn't have any identification on you when the ambulance brought you in. Do you mind telling me your name? We'll need to pull up your medical background to make sure we're not missing anything."

He frowns. Name. Name.

He struggles only for a few seconds before saying, "Cas. My name is Castiel."

"Okay, and last name?"

"I don't have one. And I…don't think I have a medical record, either."

The sun-warmed asphalt is almost hot beneath Cas's bare feet. He walks alone along a road out of whatever town he'd been taken to, away from the noise of the traffic and the distant roar of the ocean.

Cas escaped the hospital long before they planned to release him. Though he doesn't _know_ much of anything, he has a feeling there would have been a lot of legal complications that followed his departure and he didn't want to deal with them.

The face of the man who saved him at the beach keeps coming to mind. Vague and blurry, since Cas never got a good look at him against the bright cloudy sky, but prominent.

 _I want to thank you, whoever you may be. I want to know your name._

Cas shakes his head. It doesn't matter now. He's clean(er) and upright and dressed in a new set of clothes. It's as though none of it ever happened.

He had seemed to get a lot of stares from people when he ventured out in the odd dress he'd been wearing after leaving the hospital. But his previous clothes were long gone, so he'd found a place where racks of shirts and shelves of pants sat, free for taking. He'd grabbed a light red button-up shirt and some black pants, changed in the dressing stall, and been on his way. There hadn't been any shoes, though, so he just went without.

He hears the roaring engine of another vehicle behind him, but he doesn't turn to look. Most of them have just passed him by and he doesn't really feel that they should have done any differently.

This time, however, the vehicle starts to slow and he turns to look back. It's a large silver truck with just a single passenger, who is the sixty-something year old driver. He pulls the truck off the road slightly and stops next to Cas, rolling the window down.

"You okay there, kid?"

Cas's brow furrows. He doesn't think he qualifies as a kid, but since he's not certain how old he is, he lets it slide. "I'm alright, thank you."

"Well, are ya headed somewhere? I'm on my way in to Tacoma if you're goin' that way."

Cas tips his head to the side slightly, then nods. "Yes, I'll go with you."

The truck's locks click and Cas climbs in to the passenger seat. He has no idea where Tacoma is, but he figures having some direction is better than none.

As the man pulls the truck back onto the highway, he turns slightly to Cas and says, "I'm Roger, by the way. You?"

"Castiel," Cas answers, frowning at the road ahead.

Roger chuckles. "That some kinda religious name?"

It takes Cas a moment of consideration to answer. "I think it is, yes."

Roger shrugs and asks, "So where you from, Castiel?"

"Just Cas, actually," Cas says, though he's puzzled as to why he has that preference. "And I don't know."

"You, uh, don't know where you're from?"

"No. I woke up on a beach the day before yesterday and I have no recollection of anything that might've happened before that."

Roger gives him a hesitant glance. "So…you're an amnesiac."

"I…suppose you could put it that way, yes."

"Wow, and you don't remember anything? Not even your childhood?"

Cas shakes his head. "I don't think I had a childhood. I was created by God."

"Well, I mean, they say we're all God's children, but that doesn't usually mean….Y'know, forget it. So if you don't remember anything, are ya sure you wanna be out on your own?"

"I think I'm waiting to find that out," Cas says with a small nod.


	3. Dean Winchester

An hour and a half later, Roger drops Cas off near a gas station in the place called Tacoma.

"You've got money on ya, right son?" Roger says as Cas steps out of the rumbling truck.

Cas frowns and shakes his head. "No. Should I?"

"Oh, boy," Roger says with a sigh, opening the console of the truck and digging around before coming up with a few faintly green slips of paper. Dollars. "Here you go. That's thirty-five, it might get ya someplace. I don't have much else with me." He leans over the passenger seat so that Cas can take the bills. "You sure you're alright?"

"I have somewhere in mind to stay," he lies. He's realized it's easier to lie when people try to show concern for him.

"Okay, whatever you say. Good luck, Cas."

"Thank you, sir."

Cas shuts the truck's door and it growls away to meld with the passing traffic.

It's cloudier, though warmer, in Tacoma. The air smells faintly of rain. Cas's stomach has begun to make noises, which he finds odd. Is that normal? Well, he knows it's normal for most people, but not for him. He's certain he's never had to eat before.

He looks down at the dollars in his hand. Maybe that's why he needs this.

The food mart he'd been left near has rows upon rows of brightly colored bags and boxes, few of which explicitly say what they contain. Some of the food pictured on the front doesn't even look edible.

But, having never eaten before, how could he really know?

He ends up approaching the man behind the counter with a bottle of water, a bag of some sort of chips, and salted almonds. They seemed the most edible.

"That it for you, sir?" the man asks.

Cas nods and looks to his right as a customer walks into the mart.

Warm brown hair, averagely tall, high cheekbones, and a hint of scruff on his face….

Cas blinks and looks again. That's him. That's the man from the beach. He's sure of it, even though his memory is vague.

The man doesn't glance in his direction, but instead just heads to the back of the store toward the men's room.

"Sir?"

Cas shakes his head and looks back, eyebrows raised, at the man behind the counter. "Yes?"

"I said, that'll be six twenty-five."

"Oh." He looks at the money in his hand and passes over a ten dollar bill. He receives change.

 _What a very precise system._

In the short time he spent buying sustenance, it had started to rain outside. It's only a drizzle, but it feels cold in contrast to the warm air. It trickles down the back of his neck and dampens his hair, dripping off the strands above his forehead and into his eyes. He stands just outside the mart, looking around with uncertainty. Where to now? What was there to do?

He catches sight of a vehicle parked next to one of the gas pumps. It's black and shiny, longer and wider than most of the cars he's seen around. It looks…familiar. Somehow, he can picture what the inside of it looks like, even though he can't remember ever having been in it.

The doors behind him open and he glances back to see the man from the beach exit. The man gives Cas a brief nod as he goes by, then does a double take.

"Wait, are you the, uh, guy I found on the beach a couple days ago?" the man asks.

Cas nods, his brow furrowed. "Yes, I believe I am."

"Wow, well, you look a lot better now than you did then," he says with a smile and a nod. Then he starts to turn away.

"Hey," Cas says, talking a small step toward him. "I never got to thank you for finding me. I think I could have—would have—died if you hadn't gotten to me. Sincerely, thank you."

The man gives a small shrug. "Coincidences happen. Glad you're alive. I'm Dean, by the way," he says, extending a hand.

Cas cocks his head and looks at the hand, then realizes what he's supposed to do and shakes it. "Castiel," he responds.

Dean pauses for a moment with a small frown, then shakes his head. It was as though he had thought of something for a fleeting moment, and then it was gone. "Well, good luck, man," he says, and turns to go back to his car.

Cas has noticed that people keep saying that. Do they think using those two particular words somehow have an effect on what happens to him? Why does he need luck, anyway?

Cas stands alone as the rain starts to come down harder. He watches Dean climb into his car and start the engine, which growls to life before settling back to a low rumble. Again, familiar.

Before heading out to the streets, though, the black car swings around the gas pumps and stops in front of Cas. The window rolls down.

"Do you have anywhere to go, Cas?" Dean asks, ducking slightly to see Cas out of the passenger window.

He considers lying, but sees no point in it this time. "No, I do not." Then he frowns slightly because he doesn't remember telling Dean he wanted to be called Cas.

"Do you _want_ somewhere to go?"

"I…that would be nice. Admittedly."

Dean sighs and leans over to open the door of the car. "Get in. I'm about to book a motel room a few minutes from here and I'll take you there."

Cas gratefully steps out of the rain and pulls the door shut behind him. "I, uh…don't have much money. How much does it cost to, as you said, book a motel room?"

Dean looks at him for a few seconds, then rolls his eyes slightly and answers, "I'll pay for a room with two beds for a couple of nights. Then you'll have to figure somethin' out, man."


	4. Secret Revealed

Three days later, Cas stands in the kitchen area of the motel room, trying to figure out how Dean had made this 'coffee machine' work.

"So Cas," Dean says, walking out of the bathroom while rubbing a towel in his hair, "you looked into anywhere you could work? Or stay, for that matter?"

Cas wilts slightly and turns away from the coffee machine. "I understand," he says sincerely. "You don't want me to stay here any longer. That's perfectly fine, I'll leave in a few minutes."

Dean pauses with the towel at his side, his hair sticking up in every direction. He cocks an eyebrow, almost amused. "Woah, dude, you don't have to be so sensitive. You don't have to rush out the door right now. But at some point I'm gonna leave town and you ain't comin' with. Put the coffeepot under that."

"What?" Cas is messing with the coffee machine again and as he speaks, a watery brown drink starts to drip out of the machine and sizzle on the heating element below.

"Oh, god," Dean says, walking over to reach around Cas and grab the coffeepot, which he places between the drip and the heat source.

Cas can smell the soaps Dean must have just used, an afterscent from when he leaned in front of him to remedy the coffee situation.

"You really don't know much about…how to live around here, do you?" Dean asks. "Whatever wiped your memory did a damn good job of it."

"I've noticed," Cas says dryly.

Dean looks at him for a moment, then shakes his head and turns back toward the bathroom.

Cas stares at the coffee machine as the pot starts to fill. He's spent the past three days with Dean mostly by trying to figure out how humans' lives work and he's realized it's complicated. Really complicated.

Sometimes Dean has the patience to explain things to him. Most of the time he doesn't and Cas is left wondering what he did wrong. But Dean had been generous enough to let Cas stay longer than the two nights he was promised and Cas doesn't want to expect much more out of him. Much of the time, Cas was in the motel room alone. Dean left often, sometimes with an excuse like a beer run or an hour or two to 'check something out' in town, but sometimes he just left. When he _was_ there, he was usually looking through odd books or newspapers or the screens on a laptop. Cas has been wondering, naturally, what he's doing, but hasn't bothered to ask because somehow he knows Dean won't tell him.

"You planning on staying in Tacoma?" Dean calls from the bathroom.

Cas looks out the window of the motel to the cars rushing by on the street outside. "I…don't know yet."

"Well, you can see what jobs they're offering here if you look it up online. My computer's over there." He pauses, then mutters, "Hell, I should probably show you how to use the thing before I let you touch it. Coffee machines are one thing. God knows what you might do to a laptop."

Cas takes the comment in good nature; he feels like it's the sort of thing Dean always would have said to him.

 _Always would have._

Like he'd known him before.

Dean gives him a brief computer tutorial before saying—unsurprisingly—that he's heading out.

"It might be a few hours before I'm back, so…try not to break anything."

Cas is still frowning at the computer, but he looks up to speak when Dean opens the motel door. "Dean…." Dean pauses to look back, eyebrows raised. "Did I…did I know you before? Before I was washed up on that beach, I mean."

Dean frowns and looks away for a moment, considering. "I think I would know, Cas. It's not like _my_ memory has been wiped."

Cas shakes his head. "Sometimes I feel like I know you….And back at the gas station, you knew to call me 'Cas,' even though I'd introduced myself as Castiel."

Dean shrugs. "Coincidence. I give people nicknames. Maybe I just remind you of someone you knew." He leaves with that, but Cas can see the small frown still creasing his brow.

ooo

Dean has been gone a really long time. He'd left around nine-thirty in the morning, and now that the clocks are turning over to four, Cas is almost concerned. He had said 'a few hours,' but this seemed like more than that. Usually he only spends two or three hours away.

It occurs the Cas the possibility that Dean just bailed. He'd left almost nothing in motel room, so it seems plausible, but Cas can't think of any motivation he would have to do such a thing. Then again, there's a lot he doesn't understand about Dean. That much he's sure of.

But the fact that the laptop is still there is a mild comfort, since Cas is under the impression it's a fairly valuable possession. Dean would be back for it.

The rumble of Dean's car approaches the motel and Cas relaxes a little. He's not certain why he wanted so badly for Dean to come back, other than the obvious answer, which was that Dean was paying for a place for Cas to sleep at night.

The motel door opens and Dean stumbles in, slamming it behind him. He leans his head against the door and closes his eyes, seemingly taking a moment to unwind.

Cas stares.

Dean is covered in blood. It's splashed up on his jacket collar, soaking through the torn-up sleeve on his right arm, running from his nose, where it looks like he's been hit several times, and even sprayed onto his jeans, which Cas knows means it isn't all his.

"Dean—"

"Don't ask for an explanation," he says, making his way to one of the beds, where he sits down heavily. "Get me some rubbing alcohol and dental floss from the bathroom."

Cas frowns a takes a moment to oblige, but after a few moments, he heads to the bathroom. "There is no rubbing alcohol."

"Dammit, well, grab some booze from the fridge."

Shaking his head, Cas finds the items and brings them to Dean. "What…are you doing with these?"

Dean doesn't answer as he carefully threads the floss through a sort of needle that has been bent into a vaguely hook-like shape.

"Dean, hold on," Cas says.

Dean looks up, slightly annoyed. For some reason that he can't explain, Cas reaches out with two fingers toward Dean's forehead. Suspicious, Dean tries to lean away, but then Cas touches him.

Nothing happens.

"What the hell was that for?" Dean asks, still leaned away as he wipes blood from his upper lip.

Cas's brow furrows and he feels distinctly disturbed. That should've worked. He didn't even know what he was doing, but he knows something should've happened. "I don't know. I thought…never mind." He turns away, confused and slightly embarrassed.

Cas goes to sit on the other bed while Dean peels his bloodied sleeve away from his skin. The underside of his right arm shows three long, deep scratch marks. Dean grits his teeth and pours the beer over it, carelessly letting the mixture of blood and alcohol soak into the bedsheets. He inhales sharply as he sticks the needle into his skin.

"Why don't you go to a hospital?" Cas asks, unable not to be concerned with Dean's chosen method of fixing the wound.

"Takes too long. This is easier," he says tightly. "Besides, how am I supposed to explain this?"

Cas shakes his head. Given that Dean hasn't explained it to _him,_ he has no way to respond.

"Dammit," Dean grunts, pulling another stitch tight on his arm. "This would be easier with my right hand."

Cas watches Dean struggle to get the needle in the right place again. After a moment, he says, "Do you—"

"No," Dean answers immediately, not even looking up. He pauses to take a swig of the beer he'd used to clean the wound.

 _That's not going to help your lack of precision,_ Cas thinks with an internal sigh.

Without saying anything, Cas stands, steps over to Dean, and sits to his right on the bed. He reaches over to take Dean's right wrist.

"No, Cas—"

"Dean."

Their eyes meet for just a moment and Cas's calm and careful gaze seems to win over Dean's suspicious and frustrated one. Dean rolls his eyes and hands the needle over to Cas.

Cas holds Dean's wrist in one hand while he gingerly starts suturing with the other. After a couple minutes of silence, he looks up to Dean and asks, "Do you care to tell me what happened?"

"Not really," Dean says, taking another drink of beer. "But I probably should. I have to tell you something first, though. Something that'll change…everything."

Cas kept at his task, unperturbed. "Go on."

"Well, this is harder to explain to someone who doesn't remember anything about…a lot of things, but—" he winces as Cas pulls a stitch tight "—long story short, monsters are real. Just about any kind of scary creature or thing that goes bump in the night—it exists. Vampires, ghosts, werewolves, demons, reapers, fairies, wendigoes…you name it, I've probably killed it. That's my job; I track these things down and kill them so they can't hurt people. You with me? You haven't even flinched."

Cas looks up at him. "No, I believe you."

Dean stares at him. "Really? Just like that? Usually there's a lot of denial when I give that speech."

Cas shrugs. "I have no memories, Dean. I don't think I have a concept of ordinary. So what did this?" he asks, tying a knot in the floss as he finished the first cut.

"Dragon," Dean answers, grabbing his beer again and clenching the bottle tightly as Cas pushed the needle into his skin again. "Bastards have nasty claws."

Cas raises his eyebrows in agreement.

When the cuts on Dean's arm are sutured, Cas goes into the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands. As he watches the stained water go down the drain, a thought occurs to him. He opens his mouth to ask Dean, but then pauses. Does he really want the answer?

He grabs a washcloth, dampens it, and goes over to offer it to Dean. "Here. You're still covered in blood."

"Thanks," he responds, taking it. Then he looks back up at Cas, pointing at him with his left hand. "Don't try to Mom me, though."

Cas frowns and cocks his head. "What?"

Dean shakes his head. "Never mind. Just remember I can take care of myself. I've done it my whole life."

"Well, I didn't know that. But yes, if it matters to you, I will remember it."

Dean glances up at him for a second, then shakes his head again and starts to wipe the blood off his face.

Cas starts to turn away, then says, "Dean?"

"Hm?" He doesn't look up from scrubbing blood off his neck.

"Have you ever encountered angels?"

Dean frowns. Looking up to Cas, he shakes his head. "No. I've only ever seen monsters, not…cute kids with wings."

"I don't think….Fine," he says. "I just felt the need to ask."


	5. Too Close

_The hunter and the fallen angel stayed together for the next several months, despite either of their intentions. One had been abandoned by the only one with whom he had shared this life, and the other had been forsaken by almost everything he'd ever known or cared about._

 _Almost._

 _Neither would have said as much, but they needed each other. They needed to recover everything they had no idea they'd lost._

ooooo

 _Florence, Minnesota_

"Alright, we're lookin' for a Tom Hatton. Headstone won't be fancy and will probably look old. You search that direction, I'll go this way."

Cas nods and sets off in the direction Dean had gestured toward. He's only searched a few graves when he hears footsteps nearby, and they aren't the vicinity Dean would be in.

"Hey!" a woman's voice says. "What are you doing in there?"

Cas steps away from where he can see a flashlight and figure in a uniform. Has Dean noticed yet? Should he warn him? No. It isn't worth risking Dean's presence there. Right now, it seems the officer thinks there's only one trespasser.

Cas flicks off his flashlight, praying that Dean heard the voice and will lay low, and steps into view, hands raised above his head.

The officer, who's standing outside the cemetery fence, shines her flashlight on Cas, frowning. "Sir, you are—"

And then a cloud of black smoke forces its way down her throat.

Cas curses in a language he's certain isn't English and calls to Dean, "The demon found us. You dig up the bones, I'll hold it off."

He can vaguely hear Dean swear, but he's still not certain where he is.

The demon snarls. "You won't destroy me. I've been around longer than the two of you combined."

Cas cocks his head slightly. "I wouldn't be certain of that." He flicks his wrist slightly. Nothing happens.

Dammit. Again, something he felt should've happened didn't.

The demon pulls a gun from her—his?—its belt and fires twice at Cas, who leaps to the side to avoid the bullets.

"Cas?" Dean shouts, probably alarmed by the sound of a gun.

Cas lashes out from his vantage point on the ground and gets the demon in the leg, causing it to gasp and step away.

"I've got it," Cas calls, though somewhat breathlessly. He stands as the demon, whose leg seems to have been broken, raises the gun again.

This time, Cas is faster. He steps up to it, catching its arm with one hand behind its elbow and the other at its wrist, ready to break its arm if necessary. It swivels and snatches the gun from its trapped arm with its free hand, then fires immediately.

Pain explodes into Cas's side and he doubles over, gasping. He was not expecting it to hurt so badly.

The demon's elbow connects with Cas's face, forcing him backward onto the ground. The demon drops to its knees over Cas and levels the gun with his head.

A shot fires.

Cas slowly unflinches as the demon hits the ground to his left.

Dean rushes over to the demon and delivers a punch that knocks it out cold.

"Cas. What the hell happened? You okay?"

Cas frowns and tries to sit up, but pain flares in his side and he falls back to the ground. "I think I got shot."

"You think?" Dean kneels beside him and opens the trench coat. "Dammit. This ain't easy to fix, man. We might be making a trip to the hospital."

"Not yet," Cas says, then turns his head and spits out blood that had run from his probably-broken nose and into his mouth. "We have to finish what we started here first."

Dean looks skeptical, but nods. "Fine. But I'm taking you over to the grave. I don't want to leave you alone with that," he says, gesturing to the demon. "You think you can stand?"

"I'm not sure," Cas says, trying—slowly—to sit up again. Dean takes his arm and helps pull him upright. Cas grits his teeth hard and his head rings, but he manages to stay sitting and nods.

"You know digging the rest of that grave up could take an hour, at least," Dean says. "You sure you'll make it?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he says tightly.

With Dean's help, he manages to stand, though his vision starts to blur and he nearly collapses when Dean lets go of him.

Dean catches him with a grunt and pulls him to his feet again. For just a moment, Dean has his arms around Cas and they're just inches apart, close….

Too close.

Dean puts Cas's arm around his shoulders and starts to lead him in the direction of the grave.

"What about her?" Cas asks roughly, glancing back at the collapsed form.

"What, the demon? It won't stay out for long, but I used a devil's trap bullet."

Cas shakes his head. "No, the vessel. Will destroying the demon destroy her?"

Dean's jaw clenches slightly and he looks straight ahead as he speaks. "I think so, but the lore didn't say anything. And it doesn't really matter," he says, and his voice gets a tiny bit quieter, "my bullet would've killed her."

Cas frowns and doesn't look at Dean again until they reach the gravesite.

ooo

When the bones have been burned, leaving no trace of the demon or its most recent vessel behind, Dean and Cas make it back to the Impala.

"Remind me never again to forget the damn demon knife at the motel when we're in a time crunch," Dean mutters as he helps Cas into the passenger seat. "Now Cas, I'm taking you to the hospital. You don't get a choice."

"Why?" Cas asks vaguely once Dean has sat down and closed the door behind him. "You didn't go to the hospital last time you were hurt badly."

Dean stares at him. "That was a _scratch_. You've got a freakin' hole in your chest. There's a difference."

"Is this easier to explain?"

"Sure," Dean says resolutely as the car growls to life, "you got mugged. Guy had a gun."

"Whatever you say, Dean." Dark unconsciousness is creeping into his mind and his limbs and he doesn't have the energy to argue.

Dean's cell phone rings then, which seems to startle them both.

Frowning, Dean answers. "Yeah."

The voice on the other line is just loud enough for Cas to hear. "Uh, Dean. Hey."

Dean glances at Cas. "Why are you calling me, Sam? I'm a little busy."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, I figured. I was just, uh, checking in."

"Checking in? You haven't _checked in_ since—I don't know, August."

Silence on the other end, or maybe a sigh. "Hey, where are you right now?"

Dean's frown, which has been perpetual since the phone call started, deepens. "Florence," he says flatly. "Minnesota."

"That's only about an hour from Sioux Falls, you know."

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed. What do you want, Sam? For me to come visit?"

The scorn in Dean's tone almost hurts Cas's feelings and he's not even on the receiving end of it.

"I just want….I just wanted to make sure you were okay, Dean. Out there, hunting on your own….I realized you could get killed and I wouldn't even know about it."

"Yeah, well, I'm not alone, and if you care so much, why did you leave in the first place?" he snaps, then angrily taps the phone to end the call and tosses it into the backseat.

Cas is fading fast. He's too exhausted to understand much of what just went on, but he makes a mental note to talk to Dean about it when he wakes up….If he wakes up….


	6. Lessons

_"_ _Cas? Cas, you with me?"_

 _"_ _Hang on, man. Hang on for me."_

 _"_ _Wake up, Cas. Please."_

Cas awakens to a repetitive beep he finds vaguely familiar. The voice, Dean's voice, fades from his mind and he wonders if he imagined it all.

Slowly, he opens his eyes. He's in a hospital bed again and he feels drowsy, too drowsy, like something's willing him back to sleep….

"Cas."

He looks over to where Dean sits beside his bed. "Dean," he says roughly.

"You were worse than we thought," he says, fidgeting slightly. "The bullet cracked one of your ribs and punctured your liver. You lost a lot of blood, too."

"I don't feel that bad," Cas says, mildly surprised.

Dean snorts. "Well, you're hopped up on a whole slew of painkillers right now."

"Am I going to live?" Cas asks sincerely, as if Dean is the only person who could possibly have the answer.

Dean stares at him. "Yes, Cas, you'll be fine." He shakes his head. "But you're gonna be here a while, so you'd better get used to it."

Cas nods and takes a moment to look at the window at the rainy November sky. He's noticed one of his hands is warmer than the other, which seems odd.

With some struggle but not a lot of pain, Cas pushes himself into something more of a sitting position. "So Dean, about your brother…."

"Dammit, I knew you were going to ask about that."

"Whatever's going on between you two is clearly important. You told me that you used to hunt together and that he left, but you never said any more."

Dean sighs and puts his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands beneath his chin. "Sam always took hunting differently than I did. He had an ability to remove himself from it, which is something I've never really been able to do. Sometime this last summer, he started suggesting we should quit hunting. I kept asking why, but he never really answered. He just had this _feeling._ He said maybe we deserved better than to die early at the mercy of monsters. Obviously I disagreed—family business and all—we argued about it, and one day he up and left without saying anything. He never told me if he planned on coming back."

Cas's brow furrows. "Didn't it seem last night like he wanted to make amends?"

"It seemed to me like he's feeling guilty about not calling. He thought he could make up for it if we saw each other in person. Besides, maybe he thinks that if I see his normal-ass life and how great it is, I'll be tempted to quit, too."

Cas still doesn't fully understand the root of Dean's anger, but he figures he shouldn't ask any more questions. It doesn't stop him, though, from saying, "Maybe you should try to talk to him. Just because he had his own opinions doesn't mean you have to hate him for it."

"He abandoned me, Cas! And everything we've ever worked for! Trust me, hunting is a lot harder without the person you've grown up relying on. Anyway, I don't hate him. I can't, he's my brother." Dean shakes his head and stands up. "Either we'll figure it out or we won't. Don't worry about it, Cas, it's not your deal." He walks over to the hospital room door. "I'm going out for a drive. You stay here and…get better."

ooo

Time starts to pass in a blur for the next several weeks. Cas heals, gets out of the hospital—escaping 'legal complications' is much easier with Dean's abundance of fake IDs for the two of them—and the two begin hunting again.

Cas, however, lives for the times when they aren't hunting. Just the little things in between.

Like the time at the end of December, while the two are in Texas, and Dean decides to teach Cas how to drive.

"This car is my only prized possession, so if you screw it up in any way, I'll kill you," Dean starts.

Cas raises his eyebrows and gets a little stiff.

"But no pressure," Dean adds with a smirk. "Car's already running, so this," he says, tapping the lever that sticks out from behind the steering wheel, "is the first thing you'll have to change to get it moving. You have five settings with that thing: park, which you're in now; reverse, which you'll want in a second; neutral, which you can ignore; drive, which you'll use most of the time; and low, which you can also ignore for now. You have two pedals by your feet. The long one on the right is the gas pedal—that makes Baby move, forward if she's in drive and backward if she's in reverse. The wide one on the left is the brake pedal, which slows her down or stops her. Don't get them confused."

Cas remains frozen with his hands in his lap instead of on the wheel. What if he does mess up Dean's car? He's never paid much attention while Dean was driving; he has no idea how to do this.

"Dude," Dean says, snapping his fingers in front of Cas's face. "Are you listening?"

Cas nods quickly. "I just don't want to ruin your car, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes, but looks amused. Affectionately amused. "Chill. It's not that hard. Hell, be glad this is an automatic. You don't have to deal with a clutch or shifting."

Cas frowns and slowly looks over at him.

"Never mind. My point is, you're fine. Now try and back up."

Cas cautiously grabs the steering wheel and puts his foot on the gas pedal. He tries to push it down just a small amount, but the car's engine roars and it doesn't budge.

"Yep, gotta love the sound of Baby's engine," Dean says casually, unperturbed. "Now why don't you try to switch it to reverse so we can go somewhere?"

This makes Cas feel much more annoyed and amused than hesitant or nervous. He shoots Dean a dry look and grabs the lever, trying to tug it down into reverse.

"Pull it toward you, then down. But put your foot on the brake. Your right foot, Cas. You'll use it for the gas and brake."

Cas does as he's told. When he takes his foot off the pedal, he's surprised the find that the car backs up on its own, without the use of the accelerator.

"'Kay, now watch out the back window so you don't run into anything—Cas. CAS. BRAKE."

Cas slams on the brake as the rear of the car comes within inches of a trashcan outside the motel. Dean puts his head in his hand and visibly relaxes.

"Okay. That's fine. You saved it. Now keep the brake on and switch to drive."

He pulls the lever toward himself and down past N to D. Letting off the brake pedal slowly, the car starts to roll forward and Cas turns the steering wheel around so it starts to head for the exit of the parking lot. He pushes the gas, which causes the car to buck forward.

"You're gonna have to be more gentle with it, but you're getting there. Now stop here, you gotta stop on your way out of a parking lot. Turn your blinker on. That's the thing to the left of your steering wheel. Yep. Push it up, that means we're going right. 'Kay, now before you go anywhere, this—" he leans over to tap one of the circular meters just above the steering wheel, "—is your speedometer. Just watch it to make sure you're not passing the speed limit. I mean, I do it all the time, but it's probably best if you don't get pulled over by a cop on your first try."

Cas nods and pulls out onto the road.

Or there was time a week or so later when Dean decides to teach Cas how to shoot a pistol.

"How much do you know about these things?"

Cas shakes his head. "Apart from seeing you shoot one on a number of occasions, nothing."

Dean nods. "Well, there are a couple things to know. First of all, it won't shoot if you haven't cocked it, which on this gun—" he lifts the pistol in his hand, which is black and much simpler than the one he usually uses, "—you do like this." He grabs the top of the gun and pulls it back, then releases it with a familiar click. "It has two sights, one in the front and one in the back above the hammer. When you're getting ready to shoot, line up the front sight with the rear, and then with your target. Hold it with your right hand like this—obvious—and put your left hand around it like this. Just don't do this." He shifts his left hand down the bottom of the pistol. "They do it all the time in movies, but it doesn't help you at all."

"Well, I've never seen a movie," Cas reasons, "but I'll take your word for it."

Dean sighs and shakes his head. "Someday, you and I are going to see a movie. Just—not like…whatever. Anyway, got the idea?"

Cas nods.

"Now since you'll be using both hands to hold the gun, you're gonna stand at an angle to the target, keep your arms straight out in front of you, line up your sights, and—" He fires a shot. One of the cans he'd set up a few yards away _clings_ and flies back several feet. "Just remember about the recoil. It'll feel like the gun is kicking back and upward, so expect it."

Cas looks at the gap in the line of cans. He's not sure he's ever seen Dean miss a shot.

Dean holds the pistol out for Cas, who takes it and tries to hold it the way Dean had shown him.

Dean lifts a shoulder. "That's a start, but it's a gun, Cas, not a kitten. Hold it tighter; recoil, remember?"

Nodding, Cas tightens his grip on the gun and tries to line the two sights with one of the cans. It seems impossible that a tiny bullet could actually hit one from this distance.

"Not bad," Dean says, though his slight frown suggests skepticism, "try firing."

Cas pulls the trigger. The bullet sends an explosion of dirt up from the spot he hit—several feet from the line of cans.

"Okay," Dean says, chuckling, "you definitely jumped when you fired, so try again now that you know what to expect."

Cas raises the pistol again.

"Hold on," Dean interrupts, checking Cas's grip and posture. He steps up behind Cas to check his aim and puts his arm along Cas's to adjust it slightly. "Keep it steady, you're good. Why are you stiff all of a sudden? Relax."

Cas wonders if Dean can possibly be so unaware of their proximity. He's close enough Cas can smell the slight scent of leather and metal from when he was working on the car earlier and a hint of something that he thinks is a hair product.

He remembers what he's supposed to be doing and takes a breath, focusing on setting the sights on his target. Then he fires.

The bullet misses again, but it seems to get closer this time.

"You're getting it," Dean says, stepping away from him. "You can keep practicing, I'm goin' to get a beer."

Cas nods, aims, and fires another shot just to seem like he intends to keep at it. When Dean is halfway to the car, Cas lowers the gun and lets out a breath. He feels something, some emotion, deep in his chest and he finds himself confused and disturbed by it. Dean is just his friend. Just his friend, right?

There have been multiple times during the course of the months they've known each other that Dean has taken Cas out to a club, a brothel, or a strip club, trying to get Cas laid. He seems to think it will be of some benefit to him, but Cas has just never felt the desire. He finds flirting awkward and the women in such places to be overbearing. He doesn't believe all women are like that, he can just tell those particular girls have an agenda.

Nevertheless, he always goes with Dean and, for the first few trips, had tried to get laid, to no avail. He did it all mostly to please Dean, who had good intentions but a fundamental misunderstanding of Cas. Cas just liked to sit there and watch Dean give that charming smile to passing girls. It's one of the few atmospheres he can tell Dean feels comfortable in, and though there could be better, it's a nice change from the comfort he takes in killing monsters.


	7. Cas's Confession

Late January rolls around while the two men are in Montana and they're greeted with an abundance of snow.

When Dean first pulls the Impala up to the motel, light flakes of snow are drifting down to join the heaps already on the ground. Though it's dark and he has only seen them in the glow of the Impala's headlights or the windows of buildings, Cas has been transfixed by them ever since they started falling.

Dean gets out of the car and heads in to pay for their room, taking no notice of the snowflakes that capture Cas's attention.

Cas stays outside regardless of the cold, staring up at the sky with wonder and satisfaction as the silent flakes fall around him.

"Never seen snow before, Cas?" Dean asks with a smirk as he returns to get their belongings out of the trunk.

"If I have, I don't remember it," Cas says distractedly.

Dean smiles, shaking his head, and goes to drop their things off in the room.

Cas sits gingerly on the hood of Dean's car—he's always careful around that vehicle for fear of pissing Dean off—folds his arms, and watches snow fall. The tiny flakes collect on his clothes for a few seconds before they melt and he has the chance to admire the different shapes they come in.

"Hey Alice, you can come in from Wonderland now," Dean calls, poking his head out of the motel door. "It's freezing out there."

Cas shakes his head. He has a slight smile he can't seem to get rid of. "I don't feel cold. Come join me, Dean."

He can see Dean shrug from the corner of his eye and shortly after, he takes a seat next to him. With the car parked facing away from the motel, they're looking out at the darkness of the quiet road in front of them, but the glow from the motel's porchlights and some distant streetlights afford them a view of the snow.

"Thank you," Cas says earnestly, turning to look at Dean.

Dean cocks an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For saving my life at that beach. I woke up with no idea who I was or even whether or not I wanted to live. But now I know. Now I know what's worth living for."

Dean clears his throat. "They're, uh, just some snowflakes. But you're welcome, Cas. Really."

Cas glances at Dean, who has white flakes sprinkled into his hair and even clinging to his long eyelashes, and thinks, _It's not just the snowflakes._

ooo

Castiel has a dilemma.

It's something he's known for quite a while now, but he always thought that if he ignored it long enough, the feelings would go away, make this easier on him.

They haven't.

They're still here and he's gotten to the point of almost accepting them. He can almost look at himself in the mirror and say the words without blinking or shaking his head or shifting his weight.

 _I'm in love with Dean Winchester._

ooo

He can hear the Impala pull up to the motel around four-thirty, just about as the sun is setting. Cas finds himself sitting on the small counter in the room's kitchenette, swinging his feet slightly as he waits for Dean to come in.

The door opens and Cas slides to the ground as Dean steps in and shuts the door behind him.

"Jeez, what did you do, Cas? It smells amazing in here..." His words trail off when he looks up and sees Cas and, particularly, what's on the counter behind him. His face lights up with surprise and that expression he makes when someone presents him with food.

"I, um, made you something for your birthday," Cas says, pulling the pie off the counter and holding it out toward Dean. It's been a few hours since the dessert came out of the tiny oven and it's since cooled, though the scent of it still lingers around the room.

"Cas, you…you are my new favorite person." He tosses the Impala's keys onto the couch and takes the pie from Cas. "Seriously? You made this?"

Cas nods. "I tried to follow the directions as closely as possibly because I've never cooked before—or I don't remember it—and I didn't want to mess anything up—"

"Cas." Dean shifts the pie to one hand and puts the other on Cas's shoulder. "Since when am I picky about food? Besides, this is amazing. I completely forgot it was my birthday today, but this—" he grins as he sniffs the pie, "—this makes up for it. Thanks." He steps around Cas to grab a plastic spoon off the counter. "I'm just gonna eat it out of this dish. You care?"

With a smile, Cas shakes his head. It's so unreservedly Dean he can't mind. "You know, Dean, there's something I should probably tell you."

"Whatever it is, it can wait," he says through a mouthful of pie. "Ya don't give a man pie and then try to keep him from eating it. This is awesome, by the way."

"Good," Cas says absentmindedly, "but really—"

"You know, whatever it is, I probably already know it."

Cas frowns. "You do?"

"Well, yeah," Dean says, now also frowning slightly. He puts his pie down. "What were you going to say?"

"Um." Now put on the spot, Cas finds himself unable to find the words he thought he could say. "I…I think…."

Dean's bright green gaze and questioning raised eyebrow become unbearable, so Cas works on impulse.

He kisses him.

It's a desperate, sort of last-resort effort to convey what he wants to say without using words. He holds the front of Dean's jacket with both hands to pull him close, but although Dean doesn't resist or pull away, he seems to go very stiff.

It only lasts a second or two before Cas panics and lets go of him. He opens his eyes and leans away to find Dean staring at him, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed a color Cas has never seen on him before.

"I—I'm sorry," Cas says instinctively, his brow furrowing in concern, confusion, and worry. "Maybe I shouldn't have done that, or I should have told you, or something…."

Dean seems on a few-second delay as he blinks a few times and finally focuses on Cas. "C—Cas, you've noticed I'm only into women, right?"

Cas shakes his head. "I know that's not true— _you_ know that's not true—"

"You can't pretend to know—"

"I've seen the way you look at men, Dean. I've seen—I've seen the way you look at _me._ I was running off a hunch, but I know I'm not wrong."

Dean shakes his head and turns away. "You've only known me six months, Cas. My _brother_ doesn't even know about…."

"But I watch you, Dean. You're a fascinating person; I—I've been interested in you since we met. Of course I notice who you find attractive. Because all this time, I've been waiting for it to be me."

Dean turns back to look at him, and his expression is shocked and slightly flattered. "I—no one's ever….Dammit." He takes a breath and Cas can tell he's trying to escape the emotional side of it all. "You're right. I'm interested in men. I've known for years, but I thought I could always keep it a secret. I thought if I ignored it, nothing would ever come of it."

"I'm not…trying to change the way you live your life. If you only ever want to have affairs with women, that's your choice. But I thought you should know…you know, how I feel, because it's getting harder and harder to hide."

Dean looks at him for what feels like forever, and Cas can only keep his gaze for a few seconds at a time before he finds something else to glance away at. Then Dean does something Cas was sure was out of the question. He steps forward, takes a hold of Cas's tie, and pulls him in for a kiss.

It isn't fast and impulsive like Cas's a moment ago; it's slow and a little bit nervous and completely purposeful.

When they part, Dean stays close, but tips his head down so that he's looking at the floor and their foreheads are almost touching. "I don't know," he says, "if this can go anywhere. But if I make an exception to everything I've been living by my whole life….God, this sounds so freakin' cheesy. If I make an exception, it would be for you." He looks back up to him.

Cas smiles and nods. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean backs up a few steps and says, "Now you—you are going to let me finish this pie."


	8. Changes

During the next several weeks, when the boys leave Montana and head halfway across the country for Illinois, something in Dean seems to change slightly. For starters, he calls his brother.

"Heya, Sammy."

"Uh, hi, Dean. What's up?"

"You know?" He glances sidelong at Cas and gives him a little smirk. "Not much. You?"

"Uh, also—not—much. You sound happy. Are you drunk?"

"Come on, dude, it's not even noon yet. No, I'm not drunk."

"Okay. Just had to ask. Time zones, you know. Are you…are you trying to make up for yelling at me the last time I called?"

"Nah. Not really. I mean, kind of…? You know me, man, no regrets."

"Right."

"But maybe I was little hard on you."

It seems to Cas that, although there would be a separation between the brothers as long as they stayed apart, they had managed to make up.

But more than that changes in Dean. It's subtle, but he starts to seem less…lonely, a little less cold, and he certainly starts to visit bars and strip clubs less.

Through everything, however, there is still no closure in Cas's mind about his memory. With every day that he spends with Dean, he becomes just slightly more sure that he knew him before. And that he knew him rather well. This wouldn't really bother him except that Dean claims to have no memory of him, which is explained by one of two disturbing things: either Dean is lying, or his memory of Cas has been erased.

The solution to this occurs to him one morning, almost as soon as he wakes up.

Cas opens his eyes. It's early enough the room is mostly dark, though he can tell the sun is coming up; the patch of sky he can see out the window is tinted an orangey-pink.

He's lying on his side with one arm slung over Dean, who's facing away from him and, judging by his breathing, still fast asleep. He shifts his arm and carefully sets his hand on Dean's shoulder, trying not to wake him. He's made the mistake of touching the side of Dean's face while he was asleep before, just a few days ago, and it ended with Cas nearly getting his throat slit by a knife, which apparently Dean keeps under his pillow.

Cas loves lying in bed with Dean in the morning, even on the days he gets grouchy and doesn't want to get up, but this time he has something he feels he has to do.

He carefully slides out of bed, trying not to disturb Dean. He's completely unclothed, which, along with the lack of Dean's warmth, makes the hotel room seem cold.

Once he's dressed, he heads out of the hotel and away from downtown, toward where they'd passed a park on their way in. The air of early March is cold, almost biting, and the slight breeze seems to go right through his trench coat. He doesn't really mind, though. Weather has never bothered him, or at least not for as long as he can remember.

He reaches the park just about as the sun fully rises. This early in the morning, the park is empty and most of traffic is concentrated elsewhere.

Cas sits down on a park bench, closes his eyes, and prays.

"I'm not sure how I know this will work, but…if anyone's listening…I know there's something wrong with me. My amnesia…it's not an accident. I don't think I'm even human—or at least, I haven't always been. Is it…is it possible to get back those memories? Do I want them? Why…why were they taken away in the first place? I know someone up there knows the answers. Maybe you…maybe you care explain, just a small amount?"

Almost to his surprise, he hears the sound of flapping wings behind him. He stands up, turns around, and sees a woman standing there. With dark, curly hair, bright blue eyes, and a calm, steady smile, she looks undeniably familiar.

"Hello Castiel," she says in a voice that matches her smile. "You will not remember me, but I'm Hannah."

Cas frowns. She's as familiar as Dean was, if not more so, but again, he remembers nothing. "You're an angel, aren't you?"

She nods and her smile widens slightly. "You know more than you remember, don't you?"

His frown deepens, but he understands what she means. "Yes."

"You ask for answers, but I can only explain why I cannot give them to you."

"Then do. Please."

Hannah nods again and rounds the park bench, sitting and gesturing for Cas to reseat himself as well. "What do you know about yourself?"

He takes a moment to consider the question. "I've learned some things over the months I can remember. But that's not what you mean, is it?" He looks over at her. "I'm also an angel, aren't I?"

"You used to be. You were outlawed from heaven the day you woke up on that beach. Everything that made you an angel—your memories and your powers—is gone. That is not to say," she says, answering his question as he opens his mouth, "those things are irretrievable. But you cannot have them returned to you without heaven's consent."

"Why?"

"You're being punished, Castiel, or at least…taught a lesson. But the very fact that you prayed for me—for someone—shows that your faith has been restored. All it would take to regain everything is to ask."

"Then—"

"But you need to be aware of something. If you regain your memories, and your status as an angel, you would have an obligation. You know what that means."

"I would have to return to heaven."

She nods. "Yes. You would have to leave everything you've done here behind."

Cas frowns and looks down at the grass in front of him. "What of Dean? I know I knew him before. Would he remember as well?"

"In time, yes."

His options are obvious; he could remain ignorant and wonder constantly what his life has been, or he could leave Dean and the life he's made with him. "I think you know," he says, looking back up to Hannah, "what I'm going to choose."

She smiles that warm smile again. "And that is why—" she stands, but turns back to look at him, "—my work here is done."

"Hannah."

"Yes?"

"If I decline your offer now, could I still ask to regain everything later?"

"Have faith, Castiel," she says, and then is gone.

ooo

Dean's still asleep when Cas returns. Cas shrugs off his trench coat and pulls his shirt off, then slips back into bed as discreetly as possible.

He knows he can't go back to sleep with the knowledge of everything he's just learned bouncing around in his head. Instead, he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all of what he's gained in the past eight months. All the memories, all the emotions and sensations….

He's surprised when Dean stirs, then shifts his position and puts his head on Cas's chest. He doesn't seem to be fully awake.

Cas smiles and puts one hand on Dean's back, resting the other on his arm, which is also across Cas's chest. Dean only gets like this if he's half asleep or drunk and tired, so it isn't something Cas gets often.

He's almost dozing off when he feels Dean stir again. He can feel Dean's eyelashes on his skin and can tell when he opens his eyes.

"How did—?" Dean says sleepily, pushing himself up on his elbows over Cas.

"You put yourself there," Cas says with an amused smile.

"I don't remember that." He flops over onto his back next to Cas.

Cas, naturally not wanting him to leave, rolls over on top of him, saying, "I don't know why you pretend you don't like me that much."

Dean tries not to smile but fails. "Cas, I just slept with you, what more do you need?"

He shakes his head and leans down to kiss Dean.

"You're wearing pants," Dean notes when they part. "Have you already gone somewhere this morning?"

"I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep," Cas says with a shrug. "I went for a short walk."

"You okay?" The concern in Dean's eyes is a kind of deeply-hidden sweetness that he usually hides very well.

"Yes," Cas says, and it's the truth. "I've never been better."


	9. Clock Ticking

_Two weeks later…._

"I thought there'd be somethin' haunted here, but I think we're out of luck," Dean says quietly.

Cas runs his flashlight over the room in front of them one more time. "You might be right," he agrees. "Still no EMF?"

"I got nothing. Come on, let's head back. If anything else crops up about this, we'll be back. But for now, this ain't helping."

Cas nods.

Just as they turn around, their flashlights go out.

"Damn," Dean says, flicking the switch on his several times.

"Is that the ghost, then?"

There's a frown in Dean's voice. "Usually the light flickers first, but it could be. Keep your eye out and—"

Cas blacks out and the world disappears.

ooo

He wakes up to confusion and pain. His chest and face ache as if someone has kicked or hit him numerous times and there's a much sharper pain emanating from the underside of his left arm. His wrists are also in considerable pain, which, once he opens his eyes, he understands why.

He's cuffed the wall by only his wrists, suspended just a few inches off the ground. The room around him is lit by his flashlight, which is sitting about a foot in front of him on the floor, standing on its end so it faces the ceiling.

"Cas!"

He hears a distant call from outside the door. Dean sounds angry and maybe panicked.

"Dean," he tries to respond, but he's not sure he's loud enough.

"Cas?" It's more of a question now, as if he might've heard him.

A few moments later, the door flies open to reveal Dean, pistol in one hand and flashlight in the other.

"Cas! Jesus—" He stops just a step into the room, looking at something on the wall behind Cas with his eyes widened slightly.

"What?"

Dean frowns—glares—the way he does when he doesn't want anyone to know how disturbed he is by something. Without saying anything about it, he steps up to Cas. "You okay?"

"Yes, I think I'm fine—"

"Stay still." He raises his gun and fires twice at each of the metal cuffs holding Cas to the wall.

The cuffs release and Cas drops to the floor. Pain flares up in his ribs when his feet hit the ground and his knees try to buckle. Dean catches him and pulls him into a hug.

"What happened?" Dean asks from over Cas's shoulder.

"I don't know," Cas admits. "I blacked out and then woke up here. What happened to you?"

Dean backs away and bends over to pick Cas's flashlight up off the floor. "I was out too, but only for a couple minutes. When I came around, I was right where we'd been, but you were gone. I searched the place until I found you."

Frowning, Cas nods and turns to look at the wall.

What he finds is a simple, chilling message written undeniably in blood—Cas's blood.

 _Winchesters. Midnight. Or he dies._

"Dean—"

"I know. We should get out of here."

"How do they know I'll die?"

"Your arm."

"What?"

Dean grabs Cas's left wrist and turns his arm over. "I saw it as soon as I came in."

The symbol etched into Cas's skin with the blade of a knife explains a lot about the pain he'd felt upon waking up.

"If I had to guess, I'd say it's a curse. Sam and I meet someone at midnight, or they kill you with this."

"What are you going to do?"

Dean drops Cas's wrist and looks him very steadily in the eyes. "I'm going to call my brother."

"No," Cas says immediately. "Dean, no. You know this is a trap."

"Obviously. But your life's at risk, Cas, and I'm not gonna let that slide."

"So you'll drag your brother into this and possibly get him killed?" It isn't very often Cas raises his voice. This is one of those few times. "No, Dean. I won't let you do this."

Dean looks at Cas very intensely for several seconds. Cas's gaze doesn't waver. "We'll figure something out," Dean says. "But I still need to let Sam know in case they go looking for him. Come on, we're going back to the motel. We have six hours to figure this out."

ooo

6:14pm

"Come on, Sammy, pick up, dammit. This is the _last_ time I need you to be away from the phone."

The call goes dead.

"You have got to be kidding me." Dean dials Sam's number again. This time, Sam picks up after a few rings.

"Yeah?"

"Get in the car and start driving. We're about two hours away, I need you here in less than that."

"Okay, okay. Dean, are you alright? Who is we?"

"I'm fine, don't ask any questions. Just get your ass over here. We're at a motel in…."

Cas tunes him out as he starts to describe their location. Something about this doesn't sit right with him. Dean said he'd tell Sam about it, not order him to join them.

Dean ends the call and Cas stands up. "Dean, you didn't say you were going to have Sam come here—"

"Cas, relax. I'm not an idiot. I'm not just going to walk into this trap and I'm definitely not going to drag Sam with me. But we're going to have to do something because I'm not about to sit here and watch you die."

"That's fine. I won't stop you." He steps close enough to Dean that he has to look up at him and says very calmly and determinedly, "But neither of you are dying for me tonight."

"No," Dean says immediately. "Of course not. You think that's part of the plan?" He puts a hand on Cas's arm. "Look, we'll go in with a plan, we'll kill whoever this son of a bitch is, and we'll all be back here before sunrise."

Cas's brows furrow slightly, but he reaches up to the back of Dean's head and kisses him. He slips his other hand under Dean's jacket and around to his back.

"Cas," Dean says quietly when they've parted. His arms are around Cas's lower back and he seems to be holding him closer than usual, as if he needs the comfort of knowing he's still there. "I should've told you you'd be in danger the day I let you stay in that motel with me and I'm sorry I didn't give you that choice. I just liked you and wanted someone to hunt with—"

"Dean. I don't regret any of this. This one little thing—it doesn't change anything."

"I know. I'm done. I just wanted to get that out there. I've had a lot of people die for me, Cas. A lot. And I'm not going to let that be you."


	10. Differences

6:46pm

"Found it," Dean says, spinning his laptop around so Cas can see. "It's a curse, just like I thought." He turns the screen back to himself. "You can't change the spell just by changing the mark…big surprise…the curse lasts as long as the wound, but breaks after its fully healed. Dammit. That doesn't mean anything."

"It seems like the work of a witch," Cas thinks aloud, "but the setup seemed more like that of a demon."

"Agreed," Dean says, closing the laptop. "But there are too many damn demons who might want to kill me and Sam. I'd say Crowley right away, but this isn't his style. He's much more direct."

Cas frowns. The name Crowley seems familiar, but he figures it's pointless to try to remember anything at this point.

He won't know until he asks.

ooo

8:05pm

Sam Winchester's arrival is announced by the sound of an older truck in the parking lot. Cas stands to look out the window as Dean goes out to greet his brother.

Sam is tall. A few inches taller than Dean and broader in the chest. His hair is a slightly darker color and it falls in a few waves to his shoulders. He doesn't hold himself with the same false arrogance that Dean does; he seems to have a little less to hide.

Despite the fact that the two brothers have been separated for nearly eight months, their greeting looks casual. Something Dean says temporarily erases the worry Sam had shown upon getting out of the truck and the two laugh. Dean gives Sam a pat on the arm, they exchange a few more words, and then head in.

It seems to Cas like they're putting a lot of emotion behind themselves to deal with the task at hand, and at some point, they'll have to actually address each other's absence, whether on good terms or bad terms.

He wonders how much of this is his fault. If they hadn't had their memories changed, would Sam have left? Would they have stayed apart for so long if Dean hadn't met Cas?

"Okay," Dean says, leading Sam into the room, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions—both of you. But Sam, this is Cas, Cas, this is Sam, and we're all going to save our questions until after midnight. Cas and I have been hunting together since last August. That's all you need to know."

Cas can tell it's bothering Sam that Dean won't tell him more.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Cas says, grasping to make the situation better, "I've heard a lot about you."

"Yeah," Sam says, glancing at Dean. "I wish I could say the same."

"Quit," Dean tells him. "We're not going to get anything figured out if we all stand here and argue."

"Okay," Sam says. He's surprisingly unconfrontational. "So tell me what's up. What did you mean about midnight, Dean?"

Dean sits down and eventually the other two follow. "Earlier this evening, Cas and I were working a case, checking out a supposedly haunted house. Turns out it was a setup. Whoever brought us there left a message in Cas's blood and—" He nods to Cas.

Cas pulls up his sleeve and tugs off the bandana Dean had tied around his arm earlier to serve as a bandage. "They left this as a threat."

Sam frowns at the symbol, then asks, "So what was the message?"

Cas answers. "It said, 'Winchesters. Midnight. Or he dies.' _He_ obviously being in reference to myself."

"The symbol is a curse," Dean explains. "With a few ingredients and an incantation, whoever carved it into him can kill him at any point until the cuts heal."

"That's got to be pretty powerful magic," Sam says, sounding disturbed. "Do we know who did it?"

"Not yet. My best bet's a demon."

"Not just any demon, though," Sam figures. "Crowley?"

Dean shakes his head. "Doesn't seem like him."

"Abaddon."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Could be."

"So where are we supposed to go to meet her—or whoever it is? The house you guys were at?"

Cas shakes his head. "They left this in my pocket." He pulls out a piece of paper with an address written across it and hands it to Sam.

"Did you check out where this is?" he asks, taking the paper and frowning at it.

"Found it on Google Maps," Dean offers. "It's an abandoned strip mall. They might have picked it for a reason, or it might just be a good place to kill someone and not get caught. We don't know."

ooo

9:53pm

The Winchesters think they're out of earshot, but Cas can still hear them.

"Dean, I know you didn't want me to ask any questions, but—"

"I didn't. Glad you remembered. Pass me that shell."

Pause. "Okay, but I can't pretend I didn't notice that the motel room you rented only has one bed. A king-size bed."

"Well, Cas is staying in a separate room."

"Don't lie to me, Dean—"

"What do you want me to say? What, you think we've been sleeping together?"

"Well, I don't know what you've been doing for the past months, Dean. I'm glad you've been calling me, but I didn't even know about Cas until I realized you kept saying 'we.' And that hardly counts as knowing."

"Done in here yet?" Cas asks, pretending he hasn't heard anything.

The Winchesters exchange a look, but otherwise there's no sign of the brewing argument.

"Yeah, we're close," Dean answers.

ooo

11:15pm

"It's about a half-hour drive to that address," Dean says, tossing his pistol into his duffel bag and zipping it. "So we're leaving. Load your stuff in Baby, I'm driving us there."

He leaves the room and Sam starts to follow, but not before Cas says, "Sam."

"Yeah?" He turns back in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

"I know you don't know me—" _you don't remember me_ "—so I understand if you don't want to risk your life for me. It's not too late, I can try to talk Dean out—"

"Cas. I appreciate it. I really do. But I'm a hunter—or, I was a hunter. Risking my life for people was kind of my job. Besides, you clearly matter to Dean, so." He shrugs. "Whoever this is, they're using you to get to us. I feel like that puts the blame on us, not you."


	11. Midnight

**A/N: There's a short epilogue coming, but this is the end of the story. Please no one murder me. I love** **this story to bits and I hope you all have too. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, favorited, or just read this far. There are new fics to come.**

11:50pm

The mall is dark and extremely empty. One of the walls between stores has collapsed, turning the place into a wide, cluttered hallway. The ceiling has partially caved in as well, providing a view of the dark, starry sky.

Cas and the Winchesters have split up, as according to plan. Cas stands, mostly obscured by debris, at one end of the mall while the brothers wait to be ambushed at the other. With luck, whoever comes for Sam and Dean won't know he's there.

For a while, nothing changes.

This could be longest ten minutes of Cas's life.

ooo

12:00pm

"Hello, boys!" says a confident feminine voice from somewhere to Cas's left. He shifts his position quietly so he can see its source.

A woman wearing leather and jeans stands a few dozen yards from Cas, facing away from him. He has no idea how she got there so silently. Her hair is a bright red, even in the dimness.

"Abaddon," Dean says flatly.

"You didn't bring your boyfriend, huh?"

Dean shrugs. "You asked for us. You got us."

"You can try to pretend to be unprepared, but really, I'd have to be a fool to think you came with nothing." With that, she throws them against the wall, holding them there as she saunters up to them. She grabs each of their pistols off of them and starts to unload the bullets. "Devil's trap bullets," she says, dropping them and Dean's gun to the floor. "Did you think I wouldn't remember these?" She drops a few of Sam's bullets to the floor, then raises his pistol and fires once into Dean's thigh and once into Sam's shoulder.

Cas twitches, tempted to reveal himself now, but when Dean's grimace fades, he makes eye contact with Cas from across the room and gives a tiny shake of his head.

"You know, I have a real problem with you Winchesters," Abaddon snarls, suddenly releasing her fury. "You like to involve yourselves in things that aren't yours. You hunters, or Men of Letters, whatever you call yourselves. My job is to rule them." She backs away from them and the snarl leaves her voice. "We have a conflict of interest. _So try me._ "

She releases the Winchesters. Neither of them make a move immediately; they're trying to recover from the bullet wounds.

"You're just playing a game, aren't you?" Sam says, clutching his shoulder. "You could've killed us just a second ago."

"Of course I am," she answers smoothly with a shrug. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Dean lunges at her with a knife, almost catching her by surprise, but not quite. She catches his arm and swipes the knife out of his grasp, whirling and using it to slash Sam across the cheek as he tries to interfere. She blocks another hit from Dean and kicks him in the chest, sending him stumbling backward, limping with his left leg.

Cas knows it's time. The three knew their odds were low, but they hadn't expected this.

Cas comes out of hiding and crosses the room quietly as Abaddon takes on Sam. He pulls out a pistol—also loaded with devil's trap bullets—and raises it, waiting for Sam to get out of range.

He never even gets the chance to fire. Abaddon throws Sam back and his head hits the floor with an audible _crack._ Cas starts to pull the trigger, but she turns and shoves him to the side against a wall. The gun clatters to the floor.

"You think I didn't know you were there this whole time?" she asks, stalking toward him. She raises the demon knife she'd taken from Dean as she comes within a few feet of him. "I can carve you up like I did earlier. And I would enjoy it." She puts it against his neck, just the tip, and starts to press it in. Right before she draws blood, Cas catches sight of something behind her. Dean, wielding a knife dripping with holy water.

For just a moment, Cas thinks he'll be able to get her off guard.

Then she whips around and digs her knife into Dean's chest.

"Nice try, Winchester," she sneers as she pulls the blade out and lets Dean collapse to the floor.

" _No,_ " Cas strains, trying to work against her invisible force pushing him back.

"Go ahead," she says, and the force disappears. "It's too late."

He drops to his knees beside Dean and then sits, pulling Dean's upper body and shoulders onto his lap, supporting his head in his left hand. Dean's eyes are wide and he's gasping for breath, a gasp that turns into a choke as blood starts to fill his mouth.

"Dean, no," Cas whispers, wrapping his other arm around Dean's far shoulder so he can pull him a little closer.

He twists around to find Abaddon. She's closing in on the unconscious Sam and Cas knows he has to do something fast.

He tilts his head up toward the open sky that's visible through the fallen ceiling, closes his eyes, and says, "I'm ready. I need all of it back now, please…."

For a second, nothing happens and panic seizes his chest.

Then, there's a glow. He feels it as much as he sees it and it fills him, changes him….

It all comes flooding back. His true senses, his powers, his thousands of years of memory. Everything he had been before he washed up on that beach—it's here.

Castiel opens his eyes.

Abaddon had screamed and disappeared when Cas started glowing, and Sam begins to stir.

Cas looks down at the dying man in his arms and feels none of the panic he did before. He lifts his right hand and touches Dean's forehead lightly with two fingers. The wounds on his chest and leg disappear and he reopens his bright green eyes.

"Cas…."

"Dean." He smiles and moves his right hand onto Dean's chest, his left still supporting Dean's head.

"Cas, you're an angel, aren't you?"

"I am now," he answers.

Dean sits up, looking slightly disoriented at first but quickly getting his bearings. He sees Sam up against the wall and stands to go check on him.

Sam's mostly conscious now, though he looks dazed. "Hey," he says vaguely to Dean. "Where's Abaddon?"

"She's gone," Cas answers for him. "Not dead, but gone for now."

"Cas, you…I think I know you," Sam says, struggling to sit up.

Cas leans over and touches him on the forehead. "You will start to remember," he says. "In time, you both will."

"What happened?" Dean asks, helping Sam to his feet.

"I got it all back," Cas says. "My memory, my angel 'mojo,' as you used to call it. Everything. All I had to do was ask."

"And you saved my life," Dean says.

Cas nods.

"Well, I guess…." He smiles, though Cas detects something else behind his expression. "I guess that makes us even."

ooo

"Dean."

Dean closes the trunk of his car and turns around. They've been back a few hours now and Cas can see the Winchesters are growing exhausted. "Yeah?"

"You know what it means for me to be an angel again, don't you?"

Dean nods. "I think so. But say it."

"I have to go back to heaven."

Dean slings his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah. Thought so."

"Are you…are you angry?"

He shrugs. "You didn't think you could do anything else. Besides, you saved my sorry ass. I can't be pissed about that."

"Whatever we've had for the past months…I think it best if we, you know—"

"It's over, Cas. I get it."

"I'm not going to apologize for what I did."

"I didn't ask you to."

Dean starts to turn away and head back for the motel, but Cas grabs his shoulder. "Dean, please don't let us part like this."

He turns on Cas. "I don't think you understand what this means for me. Cas, you are the only person I've ever really fallen in love with. You made me happy in ways I haven't felt for months—for _years,_ and now you're trying to take all of that away. So no, you shouldn't be surprised if I get a little pissed off."

Cas's chest feels like it physically constricts, which he doesn't think should happen now that he's back to being an angel. "I…I never knew—"

"Of course you didn't." Dean rolls his eyes. "It wouldn't have made a difference if you knew. You would have done the same thing."

" _Yes,_ " Cas says, almost desperate. "Don't you see? I love you, Dean. I would have given anything— _anything—_ to save you."

Dean lets his duffel bag slip off his shoulder and he drops it to the ground. For a moment, Cas is wondering if he's going to try to hit him.

Then his expression falls. He grabs Cas's tie and pulls him in and presses their lips together, just like the first time he kissed him.

Castiel has been alive for thousands of years and he thinks he'll probably be alive for thousands more. But knows that in all that time to come, he will never forget this man.

"I'll still see you again, won't I?" Dean asks when they lean away from each other.

"Of course," Cas answers.

"We'll go back to the way we were before, won't we?"

He nods. "Most likely."

Dean is trying hard to swallow his pain, his feelings. Cas knows the look he gets.

"I, uh, talked to your brother," Cas says. "He knows I'm leaving and he sounds like he's going to return to hunting with you."

Dean looks surprised and maybe pleased, but distracted. "Good. Yeah, that's good."

They both look up at the same time. Dean shakes his head and they embrace each other.

"I'm going to miss waking up with you in the morning," Cas admits quietly.

"I'm gonna miss your damn pies," Dean says through a chuckle.

It makes Cas smile.

They step away to arms' length and Dean leans over to pick up his bag again.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"I'll see you again, Cas. And when I pray for you, you'd better damn well get down here."

"Always."


	12. Epilogue

_The hunter lay asleep. His ears were covered by headphones, which had played "American Pie"by Don McLean as he had drifted off but now had moved on. They kept him fast asleep as the angel's wingbeats announced his arrival._

 _It had been a few months since they'd seen each other last. They both knew it was only a matter of time until they met up again, but nothing would be the same._

 _The angel watched the hunter sleep for a few moments before he stepped closer to his bed. He reached out and put two fingers on the hunter's temple to keep him asleep as he leaned down and placed a feather-light kiss on his lips. He kept his touch there for a few seconds longer. He could feel his own presence in the hunter's mind, and he could feel those eight months mixed with anger, pain, and confusion._

 _With a tiny twitch of the angel's power, those memories were gone._

 _The angel stepped back and looked at the hunter one more time._

 _Nothing would be the same._


End file.
